K. Bromberg - Crashed

Shane shakes his head, a little shocked at the verbal lashing his idol just gave him, as am I.

When Colton speaks next, his voice is eerily calm. “Now that I’ve got your attention, a few ground rules, shall we?” He doesn’t wait for Shane to respond. “How’d you get home last night, Shane?”

The question surprises me, just as it does Shane. “Davey brought me home.”

“Did Davey drink last night too?” The quiet calm in Colton’s voice has Shane averting his gaze, which makes my heart sink.

“He had a few.” I can hear the shame in Shane’s voice; he knows it was wrong.

“Eeeehhh! Wrong answer!” Colton says as he turns his head to look at him again. “You wanna be stupid and get drunk? That’s one thing I can get. You want to step in a car and let someone else drive you who’s drunk—because let’s face it you were shit-faced so how do you know how many Davey had—that’s something I won’t tolerate! You have way too many people who love you in this house. Care about you, Shane—Ry, the boys, me—we don’t want something to happen to you. So let me rephrase the question, okay? I’m not going to ask you if you’re going to get drunk again because then you’ll have to lie to me. Here’s my question: Are you going to get in a car with another person who’s been drinking?”

Shane swallows loudly and shakes his head no. When Colton just stares at him, he says aloud, “No.”

“Good! Now we’re getting somewhere …” Colton says, pounding his hand against the wall loudly that has Shane jumping and grabbing his head, while Colton belts out a laugh. “You sure you don’t want this beer?” He offers again to a frantic shake of Shane’s head. “I love a smart kid so listen up, I don’t care how the fuck you get home, call me if you have to, but don’t do it again. Last thing … why?”

Shane’s eyes lift up to meet his. “What do you mean why?”

Colton stares at him long and hard and it drives me crazy that I’m not close enough to see the unspoken words pass between them. “To be cool? To impress a girl? To cover the pain from your mom? You don’t have to tell me, Shane, but the answer is very important. It’s something you need to answer for yourself.” I see Shane’s head lower and I suck in a breath with concern. Shane shifts and leans against the wall like Colton, legs crossed out in front of them, arms crossed over their chests, and heads angled up at the ceiling. The sight of them together like this is priceless, and I know this is one moment that will forever be etched in my memory.

Colton blows out a breath and when he starts speaking, his voice is so soft that I strain to hear him. “When I was little I had some bad shit happen to me. Really bad shit. And no matter what I did, or how good I was, or how hard I tried … nothing mattered … nothing stopped it. No one helped. So in my seven year old brain, it was my fault and even some days now, I still think that way. But the worst part was living with the pain and guilt from it.” He sighs and turns his head from the ceiling and waits for Shane to do the same so they’re looking at one another. “Shit, I started drinking when I was a helluva lot younger than you, Shane … and I drank because it hurt so fucking much. And after some stupid stunts and some situations I was lucky enough to walk away from, my dad sat me down and asked me the same question I just asked you. Said the same things I said to you. But then he asked, ‘Why drink to cover it up because hurting is feeling and feeling is living, and isn’t it good to be alive?’” Colton shakes his head. “And you know what? Some days I thought it was bullshit, that I would never be able to spend a single day without thinking about it or hurting from it or feeling guilty about it … and fuck, those days? I wanted to drink. At fifteen Shane, I wanted to drink to deal with it … but my dad would sit me down and repeat those words to me. And you know what? He was right. It took time. Lots of time. And it never, ever goes away … but I’m so glad I chose to feel over being numb. So glad I chose living over being dead.”

I don’t realize that I have tears sliding down my cheeks like Shane does until Colton reaches out and hooks an arm around his neck and pulls him close. He gives him a quick, but gruff man-hug that causes a sob to shake through Shane’s body. Colton presses an uncharacteristic kiss to the top of his head and murmurs again, “Remember, hurting is feeling and feeling is living, and isn’t it good to be alive?”

My heart is in my throat, my breath robbed, and any hope I ever had of walking away from this beautiful disaster of a man is completely stolen from me forever.

The damaged man helping the broken child.

He releases Shane from the hug and I can immediately sense they are both uncomfortable with their show of emotion. Colton shoves off of the bed and laughs when he offers Shane the beer again and he pushes it away. He gathers the bag with the rest of them and starts to walk toward the door but turns back. “Hey, Shane? You stink, dude. Take a shower and get dressed, we’ve got some baseball to go watch.”

Colton walks out of the door and stops to stare at me, so many emotions swimming in his eyes as he sees the tears staining my cheeks. I say the only thing I can. “Thank you,” I mouth. He nods as if he doesn’t trust himself to speak and walks down the hall.

Colton

“You’ve got them now, Jax?” I ask as I watch Scooter buy some sugary crap from the snack bar with the cash I gave him. Shane refused. Fucker’s still green in the face. He won’t be eating anything for a while, unless he wants it to come back up.

Ah, sweet memories of being a teenager and getting lit like a fucking Christmas tree. I can’t help but feel sorry for him, but fuck if it’s not kind of funny watching this rite of passage.

Jax adjusts his baseball cap, sets his bat down and walks over to me. “Yeah, I got ’em.” He reaches out to me and we shake hands. “Thanks for …” He lifts his chin over in Shane’s direction.

“No prob.” I laugh. “He had nothing on my first dance with the bottom of the fucking bottle, but I talked to him.”

“Thanks. Did Ry change her mind? Is she not coming?”

“No,” I shake my head as I watch Ricky take a swing and rip the ball out of the infield during his batting practice. I whistle so he knows I saw him and he has the cutest fucking grin on his face when he looks at me. I know more than anyone that acknowledgment in any form goes a long fucking way. “She is. I guess Zander had a rough morning so she didn’t want him paraded around in front of the press. So I brought the boys, hoping they’d follow me.”

Fucking vultures. I look out toward the parking lot by the Range Rover and see them all standing there, cameras slung around their necks, long range lenses pointing at me; hoping to catch … fuck if I know what at a kids’ little league game. But fuck, they maintain their distance and don’t bombard me when I’m with the kids, and I’m a little shocked. Since when do they have any goddamn manners? It’s not like I’m going to be doing anything exciting behind the bleachers and creating any more unfounded fucking illegitimate children. “Anyway...” I shrug “...it seems to have worked.”

Jax laughs as he looks at the mob of them in the parking lot. “Ya think? Craziness, man, to live with that all the time. Do you ever get used to it?”

“Can a car drive without wheels?” Stupidest fucking question ever but it’s Jax. Dude’s cool. Looks out for Ry.

“True,” he says with a nod.

I make a bit more small talk with him before I head out to give the parasitic shitbags by my car the close up pictures that’ll land them some money. That will hopefully keep them at bay for another goddamn day.

They hit me with their fucking cameras as I walk by, and it takes everything I have not to throw a punch because fuck if it wouldn’t feel good to just let loose and have at ’em. Fucking Chase. Her words stop me only because it will harm Ry if I pull the reckless bad boy gone crazy that they’re pushing for with their bullshit fucking questions about her being a home wrecker.

Motherfucking promises. Fuck them all to hell. This is why I never make them. Never did before Rylee anyway. Who’d have thought the day would come that I’d be pussy whipped and fucking okay with it.

Add another layer of ice to Hell because it’s become the fucking arctic circle with the shit she’s changing in me.

I told her I was trying to be a better fucking man. Well, fuck me. Little did I know we were going to get thrown into this shit storm that was gonna pull us every which way like a motherfucking tug-of-war.

I’ve been good so far. Haven’t picked up my phone and ripped Tawny apart for this bullshit charade she’s pulling, for throwing Rylee to the fucking wolves to try and hurt me. But I know if I do it’s just going to prove that she’s gotten to me. And to her, that’s winning half the battle.

“So when’s the wedding, Colton?”

“Does Tawny know you’re with Rylee today?”

“Have you picked out names for your son yet?

Another cameraman jostles me from the side, and I whirl on him, fists clenched, jaw grinding. “Back the fuck off, man!”

Rylee. Rylee. My fucking Rylee. I have to repeat it over and over to help me ignore their bullshit lies and prevent myself from losing my shit.

At least the guy backs off so I can open the fucking door to the car. Thank God for expensive ass cars because the minute I slam the door shut the sound silences and the tinted windows make it hard for the cameras to get their shot of me about to go apeshit. As much as I need to sit here and calm the fuck down, there’s no way I can with the circus surrounding me.